


Who Needs A Dream?

by FHC_Lynn



Series: Broken Windows [13]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, robot gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 07:30:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9311606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FHC_Lynn/pseuds/FHC_Lynn
Summary: This was not how Drift expected this to go. But only Ratchet's complaining about it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Holiday gift for an anonymous asker, who wanted a Drift/Ratchet first kiss.

It wasn’t as pretty as he had once pictured.

Whatever he had expected in that corner of his mind that occasionally still dared to dream, he hadn’t thought it would be with one hand still shackled to his leg while the other arm was forcibly rearranged, and some dead mech’s severed finger crunched between his teeth. And maybe, just maybe, he had expected it to be on the lips, not his nose.

Okay, he maybe understood that part, with his muffled howling and drooling energon around the finger.

With their ship impounded, the Decepticon army hunting them, and Drift busted into scrap, Ratchet had improvised. So had Drift, when he realized Ratchet couldn’t risk plugging in or shooting him up to relieve the pain. Knowing they would be found hiding among the dead of this shanty camp if he screamed, he had yanked the rusted thing off its former owner's hand and shoved it between his teeth before giving Ratchet his damaged arm. It wouldn’t do to scream at his rescuer.

But pulling his attention back to that kiss, the whack to the back of his head _after_ Ratchet popped the dented armor gouging into his cables back out certainly felt normal. Drift spat the finger out, just like the kid he had never been, and demanded, “What was that for?”

“Do you even know where that’s _been_?” Ratchet hissed.

“You, uh…. Missed. My lips, I mean. You were aiming for my lips? I mean, that wasn’t a parental kiss, was it…?” Drift blinked in confusion.

“Primus’ ramping charge, I did _not_ whack you that hard, Drift!”

“You _kissed_ me!”

“I’d do it again, but you put someone’s severed finger in your mouth. I am not sucking down soured fuel, rusted bits of plating, or silica particles. You’re going to rinse your mouth out --”

“So you’d kiss me again? I mean, you kissed me the first time? That wasn’t some, I don’t know, weird thing where you went all protective? You’d _kiss-me_ kiss me right?”

Ratchet caught his gaze over his aching shoulder with his hands paused in the act of freeing Drift. “You think I chased you across half the galaxy to kiss your nose, do you?”

“So… Can I get that proper kiss?”

“You’ve got bits of hand in your mouth and sour energon on your lips.”

“Well, do you have something I can rinse with?”

“Slag,” Ratchet growled with feeling. Grasping Drift’s finials with his hands, Ratchet yanked Drift’s head up. Ratchet’s came down, and Ratchet was right about the finger bits and soured energon and silica, and none of it mattered but the warmth of the mech standing over Drift.

And if Ratchet spent half an hour spitting on the alley floor beside him, it proved to Drift he hadn’t dreamed the whole thing.


End file.
